ABSTRACT
Within the King-Cup if thy Limbs are spread, Or in the golden Cowslip's Velvet Head; o show me, Flora, 'midst those Sweets, the Flow'r Where sleeps my Grildrig in his fragrant Bow'r! 50
'But ah! I fear thy little Fancy roves On little Females, and on little Loves; Thy Pigmy Children, and thy tiny Spouse, The Baby Play-things that adorn thy House, Doors, Windows, Chimnies, and the spacious Rooms, 55 Equal in Size to Cells of Honeycombs. Hast thou for these now ventur'd from the Shore, Thy Bark a Bean-shell, and a Straw thy Oar? Or in thy Box, now bounding on the Main? Shall I ne'er bear thy self and House again? 60 And shall I set thee on my Hand no more, To see thee leap the Lines, and traverse o'er My spacious Palm ? Of Stature scarce a Span, Mimick the Actions of a real Man? No more behold thee turn my Watches Key, 65 As Seamen at a Capstern Anchors weigh? How wert thou wont to walk with cautious Tread, A Dish of Tea like Milk-Pail on thy Head? How chase the Mite that bore thy Cheese away, And keep the rolling Maggot at a Bay?' 70
She said, but broken Accents stopt her Voice, Soft as the Speaking Trumpet's mellow Noise: She sobb'd a Storm, and wip'd her flowing Eyes, Which seem'd like two broad Suns in misty Skies: o squander not thy Grief, those Tears command 75 To weep upon our Cod in Newfound-land: The plenteous Pickle shall preserve the Fish, And Europe taste thy Sorrows in a Dish.
